


Catch Me If You Can

by Lady_Impala



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Different Perspective, Obscurus, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9179572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Impala/pseuds/Lady_Impala
Summary: Credence, as seen through the eyes of his obscurus





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short little piece, written in the first person from the perspective of the obscures from its formation, through the beginning of the movie. There may be another piece later of the end of the movie, but that's still up in the air. Comments appreciated, as always!

It all started when the boy was six.

Credence, he was called. The poor little thing, so twisted, so abused. Hiding so many dark, delicious little secrets. So much…power. He needed someone to protect him. Someone to watch out for him. The harder he tried to hide who he really was, the more he needed me. The more he needed me, the bigger I grew.

His first experience with accidental magic was just like any other kid; Credence got upset, and something just happened. A mug he’d been holding shattered in his hands. The pinched-face woman with anger issues and a strong hand with a belt had scolded him for being so clumsy, and made him clean up the mess, then sent him to bed without supper. The shameful tears that filled his wide brown eyes she attributed to simple childhood fear.

She didn’t know the surge he’d felt when the ceramic shattered under his fingers. The rush that pulsed in his veins. How good it felt. How wrong it felt.

He went only too willingly to his bed, curled up with his knees to his chest as he stared at the pilfered piece of broken crockery that sat on his bedspread. “What’s happening?” he whispered to no one.

_Magic_ , I answered, a sweet caress.

He fought. He fought hard, and he fought bloody against his impulses. Every time that barest little tickle of promise began at the back of his neck, that addictive tingle danced across his fingers tips, he would slam it back into an iron box. For such a weak little thing, he had remarkable self-control. And the more he pushed back, the bigger I grew. His misery was irresistible. I fed on it, used it to fuel my rage against the world that forced him to keep his true self so stifled.

But he never gave me the chance to defend him. Always in that box, always on that leash. Sometimes, late at night when his little sister was asleep, he would talk to me. Hushed whispers spoken to the dark. Desperate tears of loneliness and despair, of shame and guilt for his impulses he had no control over, no help with. I couldn’t answer him back in the usual way, but he knew I was there. Felt me move, comfort and coax him into trying, just a little.

But he never caved.

Then something changed. A man with a rough voice and a long coat approached him in an alley, offered him another way. Credence was scared, but I? Oh, I wanted more. The man had a pull, a darkness that called to me. Wanted me. It stoked a fire in me I had long since banked at the behest of the boy.

Oh God, it felt so _good_.

At first, Credence resisted. But the man had a silver tongue, made him feel worthy. He could see the magic I knew Credence had, promised to cultivate it in him. Give him the home I knew the boy deserved. So I did my part too, from the shadows. Pushed him to accept the offer, help the man. In the end, he was seduced by promises, by attention and tenderness, and lingering touches.

But I had selfish reasons for wanting more time with the man. His presence gave me my own kind of power. I found freedom in Credence’s budding anger, unleashing violence at will when I slipped the leash. Maybe it was because he let his guard down around the man. Or maybe it was because he began to believe he was special. Not much, the broken boy, but just enough that I could overpower him, when he was hurt just right. So I could show him what he could do.

Like that building on the corner, by the little chosen child’s old orphanage. She had gotten him into trouble with the harsh woman, which had resulted in new lashes on the palm of his hand. Bitter and resentful that the girl had kept her own skin out of trouble, I wanted nothing more than to push the little fiend down the stairs and hear her neck snap at the bottom. Credence resisted at first, making pathetic excuses for her. But eventually, I convinced him to let me play, just a little. No one would get hurt, I swore on it.

There was something different, intoxicating about targeted, intentional destruction. I could feel it pulse through every fiber of my being, spiraling and growing bigger and more powerful. Doing my best to keep my promise, I took down the building beside the orphanage; the home of the old man and woman who ran the place. Brick by brick in a burst of excessive violence. Deafening sound shook the buildings on the block, wide eyes of baffled people with no understanding of true power staring in abject fear. The terrified screams of the children of the orphanage struck an untouched chord deep within me.

I wanted _more_.

And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to go running back to little Credence right away. He hated the dreams I brought back on the rare times I managed to get away. I wanted to watch the aftermath, see the foolish little people blunder and bumble around, trying to find an answer. Morons, every last one of them. 

Except the man. 

He knew. He couldn’t see me, but he could feel me. The same way I could feel him. Our darkness called to each other, needed each other. I wondered if he could see me in the boy. If that was why he chose Credence.

I rose from the rubble of the house, flying right past him and down the block. _Chase me_ , I taunted, feeling him follow me out into the street. 

_Catch me if you can._


End file.
